Sleeping with My Best Friend's Alpha Father
I wasn't supposed to be here.
Girls like me don't belong to Alpha parties.
I came as a favor.
As a waitress.
As the poor best friend nobody notices.
Until he noticed me.
Fresh from the shower.
Bare chest. Water sliding down hard muscle.
Eyes like a predator that already chose its prey.
My best friend's father.
The Alpha King.
He helps me with my dress when the zipper gets stuck.
His fingers brush my skin.
My breath stutters.
The air changes.
He looks at me like he knows me.
Like he owns me.
Then the party turns ugly.
Hands grabbing. Drinks forced to my lips. Laughter is too loud.
And just when everything almost breaks
He comes for me.
Carries me out like I'm something precious. Something is his.
That night shouldn't have happened.
But the moon was high.
My body burned.
And when he whispered "mine" against my ear, I forgot every rule I ever lived by.
I woke up in his bed.
In his scent.
In his world.
I'm about to lie to my best friend... say I'm already home...
When I hear her voice outside his bedroom door.
"Dad? Breakfast's ready."
Dad.
Oh God.
The Alpha King isn't just my mistake.
He's hers.
And now he says I'm his mate.
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Chapter 1
I didn't belong at that party.
I knew it the moment I stepped through the gate.
My shoes were too cheap.
My dress was borrowed.
My smile felt fake.
Everything about me screamed mistakes.
Music drifted from inside. Laughter. Glasses clinking. Expensive perfume. Voices smooth and confident.
People like them never stuttered. Never count coins before buying food. Never worry about tomorrow.
People like me did.
I tightened my grip on the tray in my hand.
"Don't shake," I whispered to myself. "It's just one night. Work. Smile. Leave."
That was the plan.
Simple.
Safe.
But my chest still felt tight.
Like I had walked into the wrong life.
"Why do you look like you're going to a funeral?"
I turned.
Sienna stood behind me, bright and glowing like she always did. Gold dress. Perfect hair. Perfect smile. She looked like she belonged on a magazine cover.
She always did.
She grabbed my arm and laughed softly. "Relax. It's just a party."
I forced a smile. "For you."
She frowned. "For you too. You're my guest."
"No," I said quietly. "I'm your help."
Her smile faltered for a second.
I hated myself for saying it out loud.
But it was the truth.
Guests wore diamonds.
I wore a uniform.
Guests drank wine.
I carried it.
Guests danced.
I cleaned after them.
She squeezed my hand. "Don't say that. You know you're more than that to me."
Do I?
The question burned in my throat, but I swallowed it.
Sienna had helped me before. Lent me money. Covered my school fees once. Introduced me to people who spoke English like silk.
She called me her best friend.
But sometimes kindness feels like charity.
And charity always comes with a price.
"I'm fine," I said. "Just tell me where to serve."
She studied me like she wanted to argue. Then she sighed. "Okay. But if anyone bothers you, you come straight to me. This is my house. No one messes with what's mine."
What's mine?
The words sounded warm.
But they also sounded like ownership.
Before I could think too much, she kissed my cheek and left.
And just like that, I was alone.
I started walking through the crowd.
Smile. Nod. Pour drinks.
"Champagne?"
"Red or white?"
"Thank you, sir."
My voice sounded small even to me.
People barely looked at my face. Their eyes went past me. Through me.
Like I wasn't a person.
Like I was furniture.
A moving table.
A pair of hands.
Nothing else.
I'd felt this before.
At restaurants.
At hotels.
At every job I ever had.
But tonight it felt worse.
Heavier.
Like the air itself was watching me.
Two women brushed past me.
"She's human, right?" one whispered.
"I think so. Why would they hire humans tonight?"
"Cheap labor, probably."
They laughed.
Soft. Mean. Casual.
Like I wasn't standing right there.
My fingers tightened around the tray.
Don't cry.
Not here.
Not again.
I lowered my head and kept walking.
Because that's what I always did.
Keep walking.
Keep quiet.
Survive.
Near the bar, two men were talking in low voices.
I wasn't trying to listen.
But their words slipped through anyway.
"...tonight might get ugly."
"...rival packs are already in the city."
"...security doubled. The King doesn't trust anyone."
King?
I blinked.
They weren't joking.
No one laughed.
They sounded serious.
One of them noticed me listening and stopped talking.
His eyes changed.
Sharp.
Cold.
Not human.
A chill slid down my spine.
"Drink," he said shortly.
I poured with shaking hands.
Why did that feel like an order?
Something wasn't right.
The guards weren't relaxed like normal parties.
They were stiff. Watching exits. Whispering into earpieces.
People laughed too loud.
Smiled too wide.
Like everyone was pretending.
Like this wasn't a party.
Like this was war dressed in silk.
My heart started beating faster.
What kind of place is this?
What kind of world did Sienna really belong to?
And what was I doing here?
I moved toward another group.
A man suddenly grabbed my wrist.
Hard.
Too hard.
"Hey," he said. "Refill."
His grip hurt.
I tried to pull away. "Please let go, sir."
He didn't.
He stared at me like I was meat.
"You're new," he said. "Pretty too."
My stomach twisted.
"I'm working," I said.
He leaned closer. I smelled alcohol. Something sour.
"Work later. Sit with me first."
"No."
The word came out small.
But it was still not.
His smile disappeared.
Before things could get worse, another voice cut in.
"Let her go."
Calm.
Deep.
Dangerous.
The man's hand dropped instantly.
He stepped back like he'd been burned.
I turned
But the person had already walked away.
I only saw a tall back.
Broad shoulders.
Black suit.
Commanding.
Everyone around him moved aside without being told.
Like he didn't need permission to exist.
Like the air belonged to him.
"Who was that?" I whispered.
The man who grabbed me looked pale.
"That's none of your business," he muttered.
But there was fear in his eyes.
Real fear.
My skin prickled.
Who is he?
For the next hour, I couldn't focus.
I kept feeling it.
That strange sensation.
Like eyes on me.
Not the hungry stares.
Not the rude ones.
Something else.
Something heavier.
Something intense.
Like a predator choosing prey.
Stop being dramatic, Elena.
It's just nerves.
But my body didn't listen.
My heart wouldn't slow down.
My hands kept trembling.
And every time I turned
I felt like someone had just looked away.
I went to the service hallway to breathe.
Just one minute.
Just quiet.
My chest rose and fell fast.
"This is stupid," I muttered. "You're imagining things."
But deep down...
I knew I wasn't.
Something was wrong tonight.
Something big.
And somehow
I felt connected to it.
Like a thread tying me to something dangerous.
Something I couldn't see yet.
Something that hadn't noticed me before...
But had noticed me now.
Back in the main hall, I lifted my tray again.
Smile. Walk. Serve.
Smile. Walk. Serve.
Then
It hit me.
Hard.
Like electricity.
My body froze mid-step.
My skin burned.
My heart slammed.
I didn't know why.
I didn't understand how.
But suddenly
I felt watched.
Not casually.
Not accidentally.
Watched like a target.
Slowly, I looked up.
Across the room.
Past the crowd.
Past the lights.
And then I saw him.
The same man from before.
Tall.
Still.
Silent.
Everyone else moved.
He didn't.
His eyes were on me.
Only me.
Not my tray.
Not my uniform.
Me.
And the way he looked at me
It wasn't interesting.
It wasn't a curiosity.
It wasn't a desire.
It was recognition.
Like he knew me.
Like he'd been looking for me.
My throat went dry.
Why is he staring like that?
We've never met.
Have we?
My chest tightened.
My legs felt weak.
For one strange second
I wanted to walk to him.
Like something inside me was pulling.
Calling.
Don't be stupid.
I forced my gaze away.
But even after I looked down
I could still feel him.
Like heat against my skin.
Like his eyes were touching me.
Across the hall, the man didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't breathe.
His jaw tightened.
His fingers curled slowly at his side.
Something inside him stirred.
Something violent.
Something ancient.
And without breaking his gaze, he spoke quietly to the man beside him.
"Find out who that girl is," he said.
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
The kind of calm that came before a storm.
"Now."
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7.5
On the morning of our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, I found a cream-colored document tucked inside my husband's suit pocket.
It was a twenty-million-dollar asset transfer for his former receptionist, Carmen. But what made my blood run cold was the contingent beneficiary: Leo, my newborn son who the hospital claimed was kidnapped twenty-three years ago.
When I confronted Devonte, he didn't even try to explain. He handed me a fake Cartier watch, canceled all my credit cards, and publicly called me delusional.
The next day, he moved Carmen into our mansion and emptied all our joint accounts into offshore trusts.
"If you don't sign these papers and walk away, I will have you committed," he threatened, his mother nodding in agreement.
They had orchestrated the kidnapping of my baby, hiding him with the mistress while I spent half my life sedated and screaming in grief. Now, to keep his secret, Devonte was going to lock me in a psychiatric ward and bury me in debt.
I didn't understand how the man I loved could be such a monster. Why did he steal my child? What else was hidden in that confidential adoption file?
Pushed to the absolute brink, I refused to be his victim.
When his goons came to my temporary apartment to drag me away, I turned to the rugged union electrician who had just fixed my lights.
"If you need a husband to keep you out of a psych ward, I'll marry you," he said, offering himself as my legal shield.
I took his hand. It was time to tear my husband's perfect life apart.
7.1
For seven years, I was the architect of my fiancé's criminal empire and the strategist behind his every move. I was Dante Gallo’s unofficial Consigliere, his partner in everything but name. Tomorrow, I was finally supposed to marry him and take my place as the queen to his throne.
But on the eve of our wedding, a single text message sent by mistake detonated my life. It was a photo from Dante, showing a platinum wedding band on his hand. The message read: “Married this morning. She’s safe now.”
My gaze fell to the engagement ring on my own finger. It was the identical band, just smaller. The engraved initials ‘D.I.’ didn’t stand for Dante and I. They stood for Dante and Isabella—his childhood sweetheart. My entire relationship was a lie; I was just a shield to protect his one true love.
He dismissed my discovery as a "tantrum." Then, his new bride began taunting me, sending a picture of them tangled in bedsheets with the caption: "Loser." They expected me to break. They thought I would shatter.
They were about to find out just how wrong they were. I forwarded the picture to Isabella’s fiancé, a man far more dangerous than Dante. "Your fiancée is in Suite 8808 at the Grand Hyatt," I told him. "I'll meet you downstairs. We're going to crash their party."
7.6
I am the wife of Julian Falcone, a powerful mafia boss, but my title in this house is nothing but a joke.
When our car broke down in a deadly blizzard, Julian rushed to the scene, only to bypass me entirely.
He wrapped his heavy coat around his fragile cousin, Livia, and put her in his only available passenger seat.
"Livia's constitution is too weak to survive this cold. I have to take her back first."
He left me to freeze in the pitch-black car for the entire night.
When his men finally dragged my half-dead body out the next morning, they openly mocked me, calling me a piece of "collateral" that the boss wouldn't care about as long as I was breathing.
Back at the estate, Julian didn't even ask if I had survived the frostbite. Instead, he stormed into my sickroom, demanding I treat his mistress with respect just because my absolute silence had hurt her feelings.
His grandmother then publicly humiliated me for failing to provide an heir, while Livia flaunted the custom diamond bracelet Julian bought to soothe her "fright" from the storm.
I finally understood. He didn't marry me out of honor to save my fallen family. He just needed my aristocratic Rossi blood to legitimize his new-money mafia empire.
I was never a wife. I was a transaction he was willing to let freeze to death.
When his men delivered a heavy diamond necklace to buy my submission, I didn't cry or beg.
I dropped the blood diamond into the deepest drawer, and began to plan my escape.
8.6
The Maybach glided through rain, Dante's cold cedar cologne a familiar comfort. Seven years, my life revolved around him, my fingers on his suit cuff, a silent promise. But tonight, our normal shattered with a single phone call.
He answered, speaking rapid Italian – a language he thought I didn't understand. Every word: a death knell. Confirming his engagement to Sofia Moretti, dismissing me as a 'consolation prize.'
Seven years of loyalty vanished. His loving mask back, he left for his fiancée. I stumbled into freezing rain, recalling my foster past. My numb fingers dialed his mother, Isabella, demanding fifty million for my silence. Her insults didn't sting.
The true gut punch: Sofia's Instagram, a prenup on Dante's desk, proudly showing *my* watch, captioned: 'Fourteen days left.' This wasn't their celebration; it was my death sentence.
I wouldn't stay another day in this gilded cage. My old duffel bag, packed, waited. The Australia brochure, a childhood dream, in my pocket. This time, I would live for myself, and they would all pay.
9.3
I was the Mafia Princess of the Wolfe family, engaged to Daniel Marino to unite our powerful syndicates.
But during a hit at a speakeasy, we were both gunned down.
As my chest was torn apart by a Tommy gun, I looked at my fiancé, expecting him to reach for me.
Instead, there was no despair in his eyes, only a twisted, selfish terror.
We both died on that floor, but the devil sent us back to the day of my hospital discharge.
Instead of finalizing our wedding, Daniel stormed into my father’s study.
"I won't marry Isabella. I want Celine."
He demanded to break our engagement, claiming he wouldn't be collateral damage in a Wolfe family war, and declared his true love for my sweet, orphaned adopted sister.
He thought shedding me would save his life, completely unaware that the assassination was orchestrated by his precious Celine.
In my past life, I didn't know she was a rat who sold our patrol routes to rivals and plotted my murder just to take my place.
If I hadn't died once, I would have believed her manufactured tears and comforted her.
But this time, I remembered everything.
I buried the vengeful woman I had become and let my face pale as I pushed open the heavy oak doors.
"Daniel? You... you want Celine?" I whispered, forcing a heartbroken tear to fall.
This time, I would play the fragile victim, just so I could orchestrate their absolute ruin.
7.4
Elena was never meant to choose her own fate.
She was sold-not asked, not begged, just handed over to Lorenzo De Luca, the most feared man in the city.
A billionaire. A mafia king. Ruthless, possessive, and merciless.
To him, she is nothing more than a debt repaid... a possession to claim.
But Elena is fragile, unloved, and wary of every touch... yet her heart and body betray her, drawn to the man she swore to hate.
In a world where danger lurks in every shadow, secrets threaten to unravel everything, and betrayal waits behind every door, their bond grows-twisted, forbidden, irresistible.
Elena must decide: survive the intoxicating power and obsession of the man who owns her, or surrender completely-and risk losing herself forever to the billionaire mafia king